


Holding

by Leotto



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Friendship, Home, Loss of Parent(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leotto/pseuds/Leotto
Summary: Corteo watches his best friend dealing with his pain over the years.And how it adds to his own.
Relationships: Corteo & Angelo Lagusa | Avilio Bruno
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Holding

Corteo looks at his friend who came knocking on his door in the middle of the night. He is covered in dirt, grime and blood. He opens the door wide and pulls him in a hurry.

"Angelo! Where have you been? Mamma and I were so worried about you... Hey! " He doesn't take that one last step to bring himself inside the house and collapses into Corteo's arms. Young boy is almost taken down by the sudden movement and braces himself by holding the door frame. He's surprised once again by how light Angelo is in his arms. After laying him down on the couch, he wakes his mother, who promptly works on cleaning him, dressing him in clean clothes and making him drink some water and soup. At least he doesn't have an injury that needs to be taken care of right away, but whatever ordeal he faced, it probably was too much for the young boy of thirteen. Angelo manages to sleep through their care.

Once their unexpected guest is settled in, his mother pulls her boy to her side. She runs her hand along her boy's hair and cheek, and tells him "You should go back to bed, Corteo. I can watch over him."

He shakes his head. "It's alright, mamma. I can stay with him."

She smiles at her sweet boy and kisses his forehead. "Water and food are on the table. Wake me if anything happens." He smiles and returns the hug.

It's just the two boys and a single lamp after she retires to her bedroom. He sits next to him and looks down at his tired and sunken face. "Angelo... what happened to you?" No answer came but a groan and a turn from the boy in the fit of his sleep.

He knows what happened to his best friend last year. Adults refuse to tell him anything, and Angelo hasn't told him any details but he isn't clueless. Between Angelo's absence of engagement to the world and complete breakdown that come crashing into each other in a vicious cycle, it doesn't take Corteo long to understand the depth of his best friend's loss.

He said he will be Angelo's brother from here on. His mother has all but adopted him. Apparently it wasn't enough for the boy who had everything stolen from him overnight.

It's been three months since he last saw him. He has no idea how he survived out there for so long all by himself. The world isn't kind to the young and the weak. He supposes he should be happy that Angelo came back at all - that he thinks of this place as somewhere he can return to.

"Talk to me, Angelo. I want to help." He tells his friend's disturbed expression at the fitful sleep. No answer comes, but a grunt of frustration akin to a small animal caught in a trap.

***

Angelo's departure and return become a pattern. Both Corteo and his mother come to accept this of the lost boy, with a sadness in their heart that whatever they did was not good enough. They never know when he leaves, but they do know when he returns, for he always comes back completely exhausted, dehydrated or sleep deprived - as if he can't stand being back here in his right mind.

One day, Corteo is reading his book out on the porch. From the corner of his eyes, he sees a person approach from the road and sits down next to him. He looks up from his book and finds Angelo, who he hasn’t seen for six months this time. He tries to talk to him, but something in his eyes looks empty. He knows he won’t get any answers right now, and returns his gaze to his book. He is back. He doesn’t look hurt. That’s all that mattered.

Angelo slumps forward where he sits and reaches into his back pocket to pull out a wallet. There’s a picture of a family that isn’t either of theirs. He determinedly ignores it. He removes the wad of green papers, divides them in two, and slides half into the book.

“What’s this?” He asks, finally peeling his eyes away from the words he isn’t reading.

“Consider it rent.” He says, before putting the rest back into his pocket, minus the photo.

“I don’t remember running an inn here.” He shoots back.

“Then a payback.” Angelo fishes another pack out of the other pocket, and puts a thin white stick into his mouth. He pats himself down in search of a lighter. Corteo thinks that looks hilarious, like a little chicken who thinks he’s a rooster.

“I don’t recall you owing me, either.” A bit of frustration slips out, which Angelo opts on ignoring once again. He finally finds a lighter on the front pocket of the shirt that is three sizes too large for him. He flicks it on.

“A gift then.” He lights his cigarette and inhales deep. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, but obviously Angelo’s a better actor than he is a smoker. He promptly starts coughing a lung out. Corteo drops his book on the chair and stands in front of his best friend.

“I don’t want something you stole. Is that what you are doing out there? Stealing, gambling and smoking? Oh, my bad. You don’t know how to smoke yet, because it looks like the smoke is kicking you from the inside. Just what are you doing, Angelo?” He looks exasperated and feels so much older than he ought to be at fifteen. He wants to throttle his friend to knock some sense into him.

“Come home, and stay with me. Go to school and get a decent job. We can still make this work.” He puts his hands on Angelo’s shoulders and cringes at how bony he is. “I’m worried. mamma is worried. We think next time you leave us is the last time we will see you. I promised I’ll be your brother and I mean it. We are your family, Angelo.” Corteo finds himself pleading with him, but all Angelo does is to take another puff on the cigarette he doesn’t know how to smoke and blows it in his face. He coughs and waves a hand to dissipate the disgusting smell.

“I have no home,” comes Angelo’s reply and Corteo looks like he’s going to cry.

“Don’t say that. You know that’s not true. You have me-” He kneels in front of his friend and takes his hands. They are dirty just like the rest of him, but there’s dark red stain caked under and around the nail that breaks and falls apart. The hands shake minutely in his grasp. Before he can ask about it, Angelo snaps.

“You are not my brother! Luce is dead! My parents are dead. This is not my home--” His eyes shine with despair, but no tears fall. Corteo has seen too many of these outbursts to know not to console him in this exact moment. He steps back and sits down next to him, until he catches his breath again. At least he hasn’t run off again.

He picks up the cigarette stub that fell to the ground and puts it in his own mouth. The smoke is hot, irritating and feels like breathing in thousand lit fireflies. Corteo hacks and drops the cigarette, feeling himself tearing up and clutching at the closest thing next to him.

"Hey, are you okay?" Angelo has his arms and holds him up from doubling over. His fingers are so thin. They feel like they might break off trying to hold him up. He wheezes one last time and laughs.

"Why do you want to pick up something so disgusting?" Corteo wipes the corner of his eyes when he has calmed down. His friend doesn't meet his eyes, nor return the laughter.

"...they told me it will stop my hands from shaking." He knows Angelo enough to know that these words mean so much more than what is said. Those hands that used to hold him as they ran through the path in the forest to go see fireworks, no longer look innocent. They were stained, afraid and shaking to the point that he needed to pump his body with poison to forget what he had done.

Corteo doesn't care. He puts his hand over the clasped hands on Angelo's lap as if he is praying, and squeezes.

"You can always come home, Angelo."

He doesn't reply, but crushes the amber on the fallen cigarette butt with his heel. Corteo feels the familiar weight of dark head on his shoulder and wraps his arm around him.

***

Angelo doesn't come home for mamma's funeral. Only sixteen years old and he is now left alone to fend for himself. He shouldn't feel like he is the only one in the world to experience sadness like this. Even his friend lost his whole family at age twelve. Such thoughts don't make him feel any better, only more miserable.

There's enough people who take pity on him and help out with the proceedings of the funeral, but that's only as far as the money his mother left him went. Being alone in a home where his memory with mamma is engraved everywhere he looked, he can't bear to stay there without suffocating from choking on his own tears.

He sells the house, and uses the money to find a small flat closer to the town. He finds a job as a store clerk. Everybody knows he is smart and works hard. It's not a lot, but he is able to work enough to get by.

Once a week on Sundays, he walks on a path that takes him away from the town, back to the house he grew up in. Another family lives there now and they don't know him. His business is not with them, but in the hope of a chance encounter.

Sometimes he wonders why he even bothers waiting for him. He left them. He wasn't there when one person, who took care of him when no one else would, died. Poor mamma worried about Angelo with her dying breath. He blinks faster at the thought of her, then looks up at the sky.

It is a ridiculously nice day. He can see people coming from a mile away. Like that figure that looks just like Angelo walking from the other side of the path.

Corteo looks at him.

He's so far, and been away for so long, but he knows it's him. There's no way he won't recognize the only family he has left on the earth. He's not sure when his feet start moving, but once they start, there is no stopping. He walks, faster and faster until he reaches full throttle run, and jumps into Angelo's arms.

Angelo opens his arms and receives him without faltering. His two sizes larger jacket flaps behind him like a cape, as the smaller frame is almost engulfed by the mad dash of his friend. He stands strong as Corteo punches him in the chest, incoherently yelling something about 'where have you been' and 'my mother'. Angelo seems to understand without having to understand the words and he lets his friend take some of the anger out on him.

Fat tear drops roll down Corteo's face and wet Angelo's dirty shirt. All the grief he couldn't let out at the funeral is coming out now that he has someone to share it with. He cries like a child, telling Angelo about how he missed him. They clutch each other like a lifeline and don't let go until both of them are good and ready.

They sit on a flat rock on the side of the road, trying to gather themselves. Corteo is a sniffling mess and Angelo looks completely weary. He reaches into his tattered jacket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes - a better brand than the one Corteo saw during his first encounter. He takes one out and puts it in Corteo’s mouth. He doesn’t have the energy to resist it or ask him what he’s doing. Angelo presses one into his own mouth before taking out a lighter. He pulls his friend close with a hand on the back of his neck until the tip of the cigarettes touch, and lights both cigarettes at the same time.

Angelo inhales and exhales expertly. Corteo is a mess not unlike Angelo’s first time. Neither laughs.

"Why do you still smoke this disgusting thing?" He looks over at Angelo's hand. They are no cleaner than the rest of him, but there's no dark red stains. There's no tremor in his body language either. Corteo thinks that's the saddest thing he has ever seen.

"...first experience was rather memorable." The white miasma leaving his lips mingles with the rapidly chilling air. Corteo inhales another puff from his. He shudders and coughs, and lets the rest of it burn from his fingers. For a little while, there’s nothing in the air between them but the scent of the warm smoke and the cool summer night.

"Come with me." He says when the night falls around them. "It's a tiny flat, but I got enough room for you. I can sleep on the floor until I can get another mattress in there." He tells the young man who smokes in silence next to him.

"So much has changed, but nothing needs to change. You are my friend, my brother, my family. You are staying with me." It is not a question, or a suggestion. Angelo doesn’t acknowledge. Corteo does not relent.

“You don’t own me money or explanations, but you owe me this. Come- AH!” He shakes off the forgotten smoke that burned down to the stub and singed his fingers. He looks down at his hands for a moment. When he looks up again, he finds Angelo walking away from him.

“Angelo--!” Anger bubbles up from his chest as he reaches for his friend’s wrist. When he snatches it up and makes him turn around, he just asks in a quiet voice.

“...which way?” Relieved, Corteo chuckles to himself and nearly doubles over again.

“I’ll lead the way.” He doesn’t let go of his brother’s hand all the way back to his apartment.

***

Blue light of the dawn permeates the room and gives it the aura of holy silence. He sits up from the bed in which both of them slept in - from having both of them refuse to sleep in it - and looks up at the figure standing by the window. The other side of the mattress is cold to the touch. The window is open a crack and he can sense the weight of the smoke in the air before he can smell it. There is an empty can on the floor next to his friend and a rumpled up empty carton.

He wants to tell him to come back to bed and rest. They still have an hour before the sun rises. He wants to talk to him about where he could get a job, and who he should speak to. He wants to ask what he would like to have for dinner and what to pick up from the grocery store. His hand clutches the sheet on his lap and knows none of it will ever reach Angelo’s ears even if he is to voice them. So he saves his breath and instead asks, “When are you heading out again?”

Angelo is silent for a while. Just as when he thinks he’s been ignored again, a reply is sent back. “Was going to leave while you sleep.”

A small hope rises from his chest like an amber not yet stomped on. “Stay for breakfast.” He wonders if he sounds like he’s pleading. He doesn’t care.

“Nah.” Angelo tosses the last of his cigarette out the window, and turns around. Corteo half expects him to march out the door right then. He squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to see the moment he’s left all alone again.

A sound of wooden legs being dragged on the floor is heard. “Just coffee will do.”

He bounded out of the best to start a fresh pot.

Dark roasted coffee is rich and fragrant. It drowns out the weighted burn that had filled the room all night. Corteo pours out two cups, adds two large spoonfuls of sugar into one, and hands it to Angelo. His friend winces.

“More sugar.”

“You know I already added-”

“Sugar.”

Sighing, Corteo brings him the whole jar. After adding another three spoonfuls, Angelo happily sips on his drink.

He looks down on the dark liquid in his hands and sees his reflection. His eyes are swollen from having cried so much last night, but he slept well, knowing someone he trusts was back in his life. The same can’t be said about Angelo it seems. He looks just as tired as when he met him on the road, if not, worse.

“You know, Angelo…” He starts but not sure what he wants to say to him. That he should stay and get a job and live a life of mediocrity, getting by from day to day, in a town where they lost everything they loved one by one? He looks up and for once, Angelo is holding his eyes. He is tired and secretive, but there is no deception when he faces Corteo.

“What am I to you?” He asks.

Angelo looks down at his cup, fiddles with the handles but doesn’t lift it to drink from it. He looks lost, like a child unsure if it’s okay to have an apple pie before dinner.

“You are my friend, my only friend, Corteo--” He lets out a long sigh. “You are my brother and the only family I have left. I regret having treated you so badly with my selfishness…” Corteo raises his hand. Angelo stops talking.

“I don’t want your apology, but I want you to listen. I want you to know that I’m here.” He reaches across the table to search for Angelo’s hand. Their fingers touch. “We may not have the same house to go back to, but as long as I’m around, I’ll be your home.” Corteo gives him a small smile and Angelo hangs his head low, almost knocking the cup over. He tips Angelo’s chin up so he can look him in the eyes.

“Remember that you always have a place to come home to. To me.” The skin under his touch starts shaking, until Angelo throws himself across the table into Corteo’s arms and buries his head in his chest. His cries are silent, as if he’s afraid to stain the sanctity of a new day with his agony. Corteo keeps his arms wrapped tightly around him, feeling his own pain ebb away at the proximity of another, who truly understands what he has gone through to be here.

The sun shines through the building, giving a sliver of light onto those who have knelt before the might of life and time. Corteo is first to rise to his feet, holding his friend up with him. He smiles and asks him what he really wanted to ask him all these times.

“What do you want to have for breakfast?”

***

Angelo is not going to tell his friend who shows disdain at him for picking up smoking that he smokes because the warmth that fills his lungs reminds him of the very same friend.

He will also never tell his friend that he was on his way out of the town, never to return, when he found out Corteo and his mother wasn’t living in the same house anymore.

Angelo will also never get to tell his friend how thankful he is to Corteo for holding his hands tightly, holding him up with his arms and holding a place he can call home.


End file.
